


Locks of Love

by Dean_hugs_Sammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Bunker Fluff, Gen, Men of Letters Bunker, Upset Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dean_hugs_Sammy/pseuds/Dean_hugs_Sammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hunt messes up Sam's hair badly, Dean brings out the scissors and tries to coax his brother into getting a trim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locks of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little brotherly fluff in the MOL bunker. Set in season 11 but no real spoilers.

Dean was seated in the bunker's kitchen – tired, but freshly showered and nursing a cold post-hunt beer in his hand. He'd just finished cleaning and dressing some cuts he'd sustained during their latest case; a hunt of a nasty frog-like creature that habituated filthy swamps and caught its victims by spitting orange, tranquilizing goo on them. Sam was still showering and, given the amount of time his little brother had spent in the bathroom since they got home, Dean was debating whether it was time to go check on his brother or not.

Killing the swamp creature had been easy enough. It had only required chopping its ugly head off. Getting close enough to do it, however, had been an entirely different matter. The Impala had only been able to take them as far as to the woods where the swamp was located, so Dean and Sam had been forced to trek the rest of the way. They had quickly realized that swamps and denim were a bad combination – the muddy water soaked them to the skin in seconds and made their movements difficult and slow. Mosquitos had also feasted on the brothers eagerly and, even though Dean had threatened to chop them all down with his machete, both of them were covered in mosquito bites by the time they'd finally tracked down the swamp-monster.

The thing had been faster than it looked. One moment, it was devouring a human carcass as the brothers snuck up on it, the next moment, it had shot through the water like a torpedo – missing Dean's blade by a mere second. Then, before any of them had time to react, the swamp creature had attacked the younger Winchester. It had appeared out of nowhere, hitting Sam in the face with orange goo, and the effect had been immediate; Sam, momentarily stunned, had gone down like a sack of bricks – falling backwards and disappearing underneath the surface of the muddy water in an instant. The swamp-monster hadn't remained alive long after that move though. Blinded by rage, Dean quickly decapitated the monster and then dove for his brother. Resurfacing with Sam in his arms, Dean had been relieved to discover that Sam was still conscious and breathing – although covered in mud and unable to move because of the goo. Dean had wiped as much of the substance off Sam's face as possible, being careful that the goo didn't touch his own skin in the process.

When Dean was sure that Sam was not in any danger of suffocating on mud, a long and hard journey back to the car awaited. Sam regained some feeling in his body along the way, but Dean still had to drag him along – especially because the orange goo had left Sam a little loopy in its wake. Dealing with a goo-affected Sam had been about as much fun as dealing with a concussed Sam; he may have said some entertaining stuff along the way, but Dean had been too concerned about his brother to find it funny. Luckily for Dean though, Sam had at least stopped barfing up swamp water by the time they'd reached the Impala. When the brothers finally returned to Lebanon, Kansas, Sam was lucid and moving, but both brothers (tired and muddy as they were) smelled like a sewer – and Sam's hair was so caked with mud and goo that it resembled dreadlocks. Grateful for the fact that the bunker contained more than one bathroom, they had both headed straight for the showers. However, Dean had finished showering, gotten dressed _and_ taken care of his injuries, while Sam had yet to show his face.

Dean was tired, but he refused to go to bed before he was sure that Sam was alright. He had just decided to go look for his brother, when Sam, at last, walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in his sleeping clothes, and his hair was still damp from his shower. The younger Winchester looked exhausted and a bit pale, but he was mud-free and back on his feet at least.

"Look who's finally out of the bathroom!" Dean said. "I know it takes time to do your nails and makeup, Samantha, but this must be a new record even for you."

"Dean." Sam all but whined, which caused the older brother to raise his eyebrows in surprise. When was the last time Dean had actually heard Sam _whine_?

"Dean." Sam repeated, misery written all over his face. "It won't come out."

"What?" Dean asked, worried that his brother was either hurt or that the loopy effect from the goo maybe hadn't left Sam completely after all.

"The mud… the goo…" Sam explained, and honest to God _pouted_. "It's stuck in my hair and it won't come out!"

Dean couldn't get a clear look of Sam's hair from his seat by the table but, judging by the tone of Sam's voice, it probably didn't look good. Still, Dean tried and _failed_ to hide his amusement over Sam's miserable expression. His brother was looking like a kid whose favorite toy just broke. It was the wrong thing to do to his fatigued and sensitive little brother though as Dean's amusement over his situation caused Sam to draw his eyebrows together in anger.

"It's not funny, Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"It's a little bit funny." Dean chuckled.

"No, it's not!" Sam protested and, when Dean kept laughing, Sam turned around to leave the kitchen. "You know what, just… just forget about it."

"Sam, come on. I'm sorry!" Dean called, got up from his seat and followed Sam out of the kitchen. "Wait up – Sammy, hey."

Dean caught up with his brother in one of the bunker's many corridors, grabbed Sam's upper arm and gently turned him around to face him.

"Hey." Dean repeated in a softer tone. "Let me take a look."

Sam, although obviously still annoyed with being laughed at, sighed heavily but allowed Dean to examine his messy hair nevertheless. And boy, was it a mess! Sam had managed to get most of the icky stuff out, but the ends of his hair were rugged, lumpy and sticky. Even though Dean liked to tease Sam about his hair and often told Sam to get a real haircut, Dean felt no joy in what he was about to say to his brother.

"I don't think we can save it this time, Sam." Dean said with regret. "We need to cut some of this."

Sam's eyes widened for a second, and he then looked questioning at Dean as if wondering whether his big brother was messing with him.

"I'm serious, Sam. It's like glue." Dean said and watched as Sam's face fell.

"But… but what if I washed it again?" Sam asked in a hopeful voice, apparently refusing to believe that there wasn't a better solution to this.

"Sam, even if you dipped your head in Acetone – which, btw, is a really stupid idea – I don't think this crap will come out." Dean said.

"You got that gum out of it once…" Sam said, and Dean gave him a small smile by the memory of it.

"That was different." Dean said. "Even if it did take me an hour and a whole lot of peanut butter to get rid of it."

"But…" Sam started again, when Dean cut him off.

"Let it go, Sammy. There's no other way, and you know it." Dean said, and Sam was back to looking like a five-year-old. "Come on, you know the drill."

Dean dragged his reluctant brother with him back to the kitchen, where Sam plopped into one of the chairs by the table in a defeated manner. Dean left his sulking brother there while he fetched the items needed to fix up Sam's hair, thinking longingly of his memory foam mattress as he went by. But sleep would have to wait for now - Sam couldn't go to bed looking like a frigging scarecrow. Besides, who knew if his hair would look even worse in the morning? As it was right now, only the ends were in bad shape, so Dean was confident that he could save most of Sam's floppy hair without having to cut it short.

Dean snorted fondly by the thought of it. Sam had always been very sensitive about his hair. As a small kid, Sam had the most adorable curly locks that neither Dean nor their tough, military father had had the heart to cut. He'd been the baby of the family after all. As Sam had gotten older and learned about the hunting life, John Winchester decided that shorter hair would be more appropriate for him, but Sam had refused to let their dad make that decision for him. It had been an on-going discussion for years, and Dean had often wondered why Sam's hair was such a big deal to him. Their dad hadn't been cruel about it, had just wanted it a little shorter – like Dean's. The older Winchester brother had often wondered if Sam refused to cut his hair because he didn't want to look like his big brother; that maybe he was sick of always being compared to Dean _._ It wasn't until years later that Dean realized that maybe Sam just needed to feel in control of something. There had been a lot of things Sam hadn't had any control of – not having a normal life and being raised like a soldier to go hunt the things that lured in the night, for starters. But his hair; his hair was entirely Sam's business. As it should be.

"Just let him keep his hair the way he wants to, Dad." Dean had said one day after another argument between his father and brother about Sam's hair. "It won't make him any less of a hunter, and you know it."

With Dean openly on Sam's side in the matter and probably more than a little tired of arguing with Sam about it, their father had finally let the yearlong argument go, and Sam had won that fight. Dean couldn't have been more happy about it. No matter what he told his little brother, Dean had always secretly loved Sam's floppy hair. It was one of the things that made Sam - well, _Sam_.

When Dean returned to the bunker's kitchen with a towel and a pair of scissors in his hands, Sam looked equal parts frustrated and worried. He also looked like he was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, and Dean made a mental note to check Sam for injuries later.

"Relax Sammy, it won't be that bad." Dean tried to assure his brother as he stopped up behind the younger man.

"Easy for you to say." Sam muttered. "And you really haven't got the best track record when it comes to my hair."

"Okay, so I put Nair in your shampoo _once_ …" Dean began.

"Yeah, and it made me _bald_ , Dean!" Sam exclaimed, turning his head to shoot Dean a solid bitch-face.

"I admit it was a dick-move." Dean said and put his hands over Sam's ears to turn his head back around. "But do you really think it's a smart idea to argue with the one holding the scissors? Now, sit still."

Sam muttered a few curse words underneath his breath, but stayed still anyway while Dean took a few moments to inspect the damage of Sam's hair and decide for the best way to cut it without butchering it.

"You want a beer?" Dean asked, hoping to distract his antsy little brother.

"No." Sam said in a soft voice - then leaned forward a bit, so that his elbows came to a rest on the table, before rubbing at his forehead. "Can we just get this over with, please?"

Dean frowned at the tone of Sam's voice. Big brother instincts flaring up, he put down the scissors and crossed to Sam's side so that he could see the younger man's face.

"Hey." Dean said, crouched down next to Sam's chair and gently pulled at his arm to get his brother to look at him. "You alright? You're not hurt anywhere that I don't know about?"

"No… I'm just really tired." Sam answered with a shaky breath. "And my head hurts."

"How bad? ER-bad?" Dean asked with concern.

Sam shook his head slightly, and then stopped when the motion obviously didn't do his aching head any favors. He turned his big, wet eyes on Dean and blinked rapidly for a few seconds – a move Sam often made when he tried to keep his emotions at bay. The look Sam gave him was one Dean recognized and knew by heart. It was the look Sam had always given him when he needed his big brother to fix everything.

"Okay." Dean said, put his hand on the back of Sam's neck and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I got it, buddy. Let's do this."

Sam gave him a small smile in return, which Dean took as his cue to get back to business. Straightening himself back up, Dean once again moved behind Sam, grabbed the towel and draped it over Sam's shoulders. He then picked up the scissors and started cutting away the ruined hair ends. Sam squirmed a little uncomfortably in his seat, and Dean couldn't help but smile fondly at his brother's uneasiness. The youngest Winchester had always hated this.

Sam had been three when he'd gotten his first haircut, which went fine until their father had accidentally nicked Sam's ear with the scissors. All hell had broken loose then. Dean had been the one to patch up the cut on Sam's ear since his kid brother had refused to let their dad be anywhere near him for weeks following the event. Sam had just been clinging desperately to Dean when John had tried to pick him up – and that had been the first and last time John Winchester had ever tried to cut Sam's hair. From that day on, whenever Sam had needed a trim, Dean had been in charge of the scissors. And that had taken Dean quite some coaxing, reasoning and sometimes down-right _pleading_ to convince Sam to sit still and get his hair cut every single time.

Although Sam was now in his 30s, not much had changed during the years. His unwavering trust in Dean (despite major setbacks in the past) was another thing that hadn't changed. Dean had started softly humming while snipping at Sam's hair and, regardless of his discomfort, his little brother managed to relax to the point of almost nodding off while Dean worked on his hair.

"Alright, all done." Dean announced, put down the scissors and removed the towel.

Dean blew the remaining strands of hair off Sam's neck, and his brother then muttered his thanks. As Dean had predicted, Sam's hair was far from short – still made it past his ears - but Sam was apparently too tired to even begin to wonder what his hair looked like. That or maybe he was scared of the outcome and deliberately avoided any mirrors. Whatever the reason, Dean didn't care. His sole focus was making sure his little brother was dosed up on painkillers and fast asleep in his bed within the next five minutes.

"Thanks, D'n." Sam slurred when he crawled into bed – the effects of the 'good stuff' Dean had given him having kicked in fast.

It never ceased to amaze Dean how fast his Sasquatch of a brother responded to any kind of drug and/or type of liquor that got into his system.

"G'night Sam." Dean said, turned off the lights in Sam's room and dragged his feet the short way to his own room to crash for the night.

**_ SPN _**

When Dean woke up the following day, it was to the wonderful smell of freshly brewed coffee. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he put on the grey dead-guy robe (as Sam had named it) and followed the coffee scent all the way to the kitchen. Dean froze in the doorway, blinked a couple of times as he took in the sight in front of him. The pile of hair, Dean hadn't bothered sweeping away the previous night, was gone, and the table had been set with a pot of coffee and a basket full of bagels and buns. Dean also spotted a couple of Danishes in there, and his stomach rumbled by the sight.

On the far side of the table, hidden behind the newspaper he was currently reading, his little brother was seated. Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest with a smirk – then cleared his throat to get Sam's attention.

"Well, this is a surprise." Dean said, smirk widening as Sam lowered the paper and looked up at his older brother. "You've been up early."

Sam shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate that it wasn't a big deal, and smiled shyly before nodding towards the chair opposite him.

"Hungry?" He asked.

"Starving!" Dean announced, sat down by the table and rubbed his hands together in glee before snatching a bagel.

Sam let out a snort, shook his head with a smile and sipped from his cup of coffee. While Dean wolfed down his breakfast, he silently praised himself for the job he'd done with Sam's hair the previous night. Sam had styled it this morning, and Dean thought it actually didn't look half-bad. More than that, Sam's hair maybe even looked _better_ than it had done before the run-in with the swamp-monster. Dean knew that fetching him breakfast was Sam's way of thanking him for it, and the thought of it made warmth spread inside Dean's chest. Growing up as a Winchester, he had always valued actions higher than words anyway.

"What?" Sam asked, looking at Dean as if he'd grown two heads, and Dean then realized he'd been grinning.

"Nothing, just enjoying some fresh breakfast for once." Dean answered, reaching for another bagel. "I could get used to this."

"Well, don't." Sam dismissed. "I'm not getting up _hours_ before you to pick up breakfast every single day. Do you realize how far away the nearest bakery is?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist." Dean said with his mouth full, waving a half-eaten bagel in the air. "Just drink your coffee, Dumbledork."

Sam huffed and went back to reading his paper, and Dean enjoyed the comfortable silence that settled between them. He had always tried to be a great big brother, and the things he did for Sam most likely went beyond anything normal big brothers would do for their younger brothers. Not everyone would be willing to raise his little brother, literally go to hell and back for him, or simply stay up in the middle of the night to fix up his brother's messy hair. Dean did those things, and he never once complained about it. But Dean also had something most big brothers didn't; he had a little brother that was worth fighting for - and a little brother who happened to be just as awesome as himself.

* * *

  **THE END**


End file.
